The recent media swarm around an anguished report of rape at Amherst College, in Massachusetts, is understandable, especially when every day seems to bring another grotesque proclamation from a political figure appearing to minimize, or even justify, rape. But the gravity of sexual assault shouldn’t be an excuse to draw black-and-white conclusions about the problem of rape on college campuses.

Most rapes are hard to prosecute, in part because they rarely have witnesses, but college rapes on college campuses are an even bigger challenge because at least 90% of alleged rapes are between people who know each other (often boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, or current friends and acquaintances). College rapes also typically involve less physical evidence (like signs of physical struggle), and one or both parties are more likely to be intoxicated by alcohol, often making it hard for the alleged victim and assailant to recall or report a clear story. College-rape survivors sometimes delay reporting rape, as the Amherst survivor did, until they have concluded that they were in fact raped — an ambiguity that is much less common in the general population.

As an educator and college administrator who has worked firsthand with students involved in sexual-assault cases, I applaud Amherst’s call to respond more sensitively to rape victims. Nonetheless, universities must ensure due process to protect the rights of all students, including those who are accused of rape. Those who fault Amherst administrators for not doing enough in response to Angie Epifano’s allegations are missing a key fact: most college sexual-assault allegations would never meet the standard for criminal prosecution and, indeed, do not wind up in the criminal-justice system. With their judicial boards and other disciplinary infrastructure, universities generally take rape allegations more seriously, not less seriously, than in the world beyond their ivy walls.

Moreover, college students are adults with their own legal and moral agency; college officials are not compelled by law to report assaults to the police, as school administrators are for suspected cases of sexual abuse with minors. Campus sexual assaults are thus adjudicated in an often deeply unsatisfying he-said-she-said administrative process that can’t always establish truth, much less actual justice. As former Harvard College dean Harry Lewis noted in Excellence Without a Soul: How a Great University Forgot Education, “In rape cases there is often no middle ground … When one student is accused of raping another, the college cannot make everyone happy.”

Here is another problem: the one-note media reaction to the Amherst story paradoxically lets universities off the hook in addressing the social norms that so often enable sexual misconduct. Yes, we should expect that victims will receive appropriate care and that all students (victims and alleged assailants, both) will receive due process, but universities could do even more to tackle the factors that increase the risks by challenging predatory student behavior and the decades-long prominence of all-male clubs and fraternities; improving our understanding of risk factors like the dysfunctional use of alcohol; collecting and communicating campus-health, sexual-assault and drinking statistics more openly; and, equally important, promoting higher standards of personal responsibility for men and women alike.